


Mit Rosen bedacht, mit Näglein besteckt

by dracaenia (Arel)



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I am making this up as I go, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:32:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4917946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arel/pseuds/dracaenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What shall we do with the drunken sa-... ah no, but a good question anyway. What shall they do with the baby?</p><p>Wherein Q asks the important questions, Bond is being utterly unhelpful and SOMEBODY gets found at the least reasonable of times.</p><p> </p><p>For Fusterya and Boffin, because one was crying over angst and the other one is what I imagine Q to be like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mit Rosen bedacht, mit Näglein besteckt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fusterya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fusterya/gifts), [Boffin1710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/gifts).



The first thing that normally greeted Q when he arrived at work in the morning was the quiet noise of concentration. In Q-branch, that meant the clacking of keyboards and the blubbering of boiling water, or sometimes even the slightly ear-shattering wails of panic, induced by the more penetrative firewall attacks or lost agents.

 

This morning, however, something was off. Everything seemed slightly dampened, as if someone tried to be extra quiet while being just as or maybe even more busy than normal. After a few moments of observing his minions, Q came to the conclusion that they were being exactly that, extra quiet.

 

Well, all the better for his peace. Last night had not been a very good one. The agent he had been monitoring had repeatedly refused to listen to Q's advice and direction, the whole mission culminating in a huge explosion that, not surprising anybody, had cost the agent his life, and Q a big part of his night tying up loose ends and filing reports. By the time he had left the office it had been almost four in the morning, which was also the reason why he was so horribly off schedule today. The clock had already gone past the eleventh hour when he stuck his nose inside the door of his office, trying to come up with a reason, why his people were acting so strangely.

 

Q had almost reached his chair when his sleepy brain caught up with the data his eyes were sending him: on his couch, right there on top of the colourful monstrosity M had christened Q's nest, lay a sleeping 007 with a little bump on top of his stomach.

 

The three things (Q's couch, 007, sleeping) seemed to be preposterous in on sentence, but alas, it was no hallucination. James Bond had brought a child home with him and was currently sleeping on the Quartermaster's couch, the child sleeping on his stomach. Q could  feel his brain trying to wrap around the concept of children and James Bond, but even then it took him a good five minutes before he could pry his eyes from the pair.

 

As he had his back to the couch as well as started to work, he could only try and picture the happenings that matched the sound he heard: the slight creaking of springs, soothing humming sounds, increased sucking and sniffling noises, the ruffling of a blanket. Apparently the other inhabitants of his bureau were slowly surfacing the land of the living again.

 

When he was reasonably sure that both of them were definitely awake (and therefore not prone to violent behaviour upon being startled), he turned his -very comfortable and obscenely large- chair around and cleared his throat as to inform Bond of his intention to speak. “Bond”, he said, “ What on earth is that? And yes I can see that is a baby but whatever drove you to bring it here?” Bond clamped his hands down over the child's ears and hissed at Q (a move that had Q's eyes almost boggle out of his head). “Do not call them it, you heartless monster! They are a child and not a computer.”

 

Q proceeded to blink rapidly, willing the picture before his eyes to be an apparition. When nothing changed, he complied to nod. “Of course, agent.” Seeing as Bond relaxed almost imperceptibly, he went on, “Why did you bring a child with you, 007? And where, for that matter, did that child come from?” Nothing in the brief or surveillance data had even hinted slightly upon the possible closeness of any people under the age of consent within the parameters of the mission.

 

007 shifted slightly and moved the child so it could press its nose into the crook of the man's throat, which was promptly commented by a contented sigh by the impossibly tiny body. The child in return seemed to relax the atmosphere to an almost non-threatening level, while Bond also moved his hands back away from the child's head, muttering something under his breath.

 

“I am sorry?” Q inquired not entirely sure had even intended to talk to him, but running out of patience just a little bit. James Bond, Agent of Her Majesty's Secret Service, Owner of a Licence To Kill (or so the agent had informed him just two weeks ago, to the utter hilarity of the impeccable Miss Moneypenny) studiously evaded eye contact and pressed the words out so quickly, they were almost fused together. “Somebody placed them in a blanket next to the recycling bins by the train tracks where the back exit was while I was disabling security inside and patching your minion through to their computer system.”

 

Q closed his eyes and prayed for strength. Tanner was going to have kittens over this, not to even think of M. “Pray tell what you are going to do with them, what you are going to feed them?” He doubted very sincerely, that the agent had any idea how much work a small child was.Even his own knowledge was only for short time care or second hand recountings (although he had to admit that the little one looked quite content).

 

Bond, still cuddling the infant of undetermined age or sex, shrugged noncommittally and after Q had glowered at him a few minutes finally opened his mouth. “I know a retired double oh, that is working as a nanny now and considering that I am rapidly nearing retirement age, I should be able to care for a baby. If bad comes to worse, at least the little one has a proper trust fund.” He paused for a second, as if to give his Quartermaster time to close his metaphorical mouth. “ I already set up the trust fund while I was traveling home.”

 

“You-” Q blinked rapidly, not quite managing to translate his feelings into appropriate words for a few long moments. Of course Bond was able to organise and set up a trust fund for an unnamed baby of undetermined parentage within five hours of military transport, but when it came to retaining anything technical or mechanical Q-branch handed to him to support his mission, everything was lost and /or destroyed within about half an hour of Bond touching down at the parameters. At this point it wasn't even a question anymore if that was purposefully done or not.

 

Resigned, Q decided to not even bother anymore. “Why do we not know what sex or gender the little pant shitter is, anyway?”, he asked into the silence that had developed. “You have had quite enough time to find out.” How 007 had gotten onto a military plane full of US marines with a baby was a mystery Q made a note to himself to answer later. Bond made a face, that looked like he had smelled something utterly vile while coming across the most adorable kitten on earth. “The little one was swaddled tightly and professionally when I found them and hasn't needed a change of nappies yet, so I had no reason to look yet.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I am making this up as I go, fair warning.
> 
> Thanks Aka-san and Jess for the beta-reading.
> 
> Written with the help of Sinfonia Concertante e-Moll, op.125by Sergey and Highgrove Suite: Goddess of the Woods by Patrick Hawes


End file.
